


Poplar Acts of Kindness

by WednesdayGilfillian



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Acts of Kindness, Comfort, Fluff, Gen, POV Second Person, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27196879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WednesdayGilfillian/pseuds/WednesdayGilfillian
Summary: Written from the perspective of…you, an unnamed Londoner…these scenes each describe a chance encounter that brightened an otherwise difficult day. (Or sometimes, a time when it was your turn to lend a hand!)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	1. Angela & Shelagh

**In the Tea Room**

Sitting at a table in the local tea room, you are making a valiant effort not to cry. Hoping desperately that nobody will notice.

You had thought that taking yourself out in public would be a good idea. That it would force you to pull yourself together. But no – there’s still the constant threat of tears, stinging behind your eyes. Your tea seems to taste of salt.

Inevitably, the tears fall. You do your best to hide it, wiping at your cheek with your sleeve as though to scratch an errant itch. You think for a moment that you’ve got away with it.

“Did you forget your hanky? I’m not _allowed_ to forget mine.”

You look up to find a little girl standing close by. She has obviously wandered a few feet from her mother; probably the smartly-dressed woman paying at the till. The girl is blonde, maybe six years old, and she’s watching you intently. You gesture to your damp sleeve, and sniff.  
“Silly of me, wasn’t it?”

She doesn’t stop staring at you, though you were hoping that she might.

“What’s the matter?”  
You sigh. “Oh… Lots of things.”  
The girl nods sagely, as though she perfectly understands.

“Well, if _I_ wanted to feel better – and was a grown up with my own money, I mean – I’d buy that slice of cake. The one with the yellow icing.”  
She gestures to the display.

She seems so very serious, you almost want to laugh. Which is the last thing you had felt like doing a minute ago.  
“I’ll consider your advice. Thank you…?”  
“Angela,” she supplies, smiling as though she’s glad to be of service.

That is the moment her mother notices her absence. The woman comes bustling over, open handbag slung over one arm.  
“I do hope she’s not bothering…you…”

The soft Scottish lilt of her voice trails away the second she observes your tear-stained face. Her brow furrows in sympathy, and you can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed. You smile up at her, a little too brightly, determined to prove that there is no cause for alarm.

“She’s not bothering me in the slightest. Thank you, Angela.”  
“Goodbye,” the girl says, simply. Giving you one last apologetic smile, the woman pulls her daughter back to the till. There is a _sotto voce_ discussion between them; presumably about the importance of not disturbing strangers, particularly ones who look upset. You avert your eyes, hoping that Angela won’t get a scolding. You actually feel better than you did.

A minute later, you’ve reached a decision. You get to your feet and make your way to the counter, smiling bravely at the man behind the till.  
“Another cup of tea, please. And I’ll have a slice of that cake, too.”  
“Thought you might,” he winks, reaching for a plate. You stare.  
“What do you mean?”  
He nods his head to indicate the door behind you. “Well, it’s already been paid for.”

You turn, and catch a last glimpse of the woman and her daughter, as they disappear into the London crowd.


	2. Trixie

**In the Department Store**

You had thought – you had intended – that the outing would be a treat. You’d saved your pin money, plus the tube fare, and taken yourself uptown to one of those fancy stores. You had thought it was about time you started using an eye cream, or whatever product the people in the know would recommend. 

But the moment you’d got there, you realised you are horribly out of place. Your clothes feel outdated, and the sales assistants are all perfect porcelain dolls of women. You feel like a sack of potatoes by contrast.

You stand in front of a shelf lined with various creams, at a loss as to where even to start. You ask an assistant if she thinks a certain eye cream would work for you. She looks at you for a moment, and then says, “Well, it works for me…but then, that’s not an area _I_ have trouble with.”

After that, you are just about ready to go home in defeat. However, you don’t want to waste the cost of the tube fare; you want to come away with _something_. Perhaps a lipstick. Surely even someone like you can’t go wrong with something as simple as that.

You are reaching for a lipstick – the last in that particular shade – when a hand comes down on top of your own. You’d hardly noticed the person browsing next to you, absorbed as you were in your own misery.  
“Snap! You win!” the stranger laughs merrily, as though you’d both been playing at cards.

She is blonde and glamorous, and just the kind of person this kind of shop is really meant for. You pull your hand away quickly, feeling you ought to apologise.

“Sorry. You should have it.”  
She looks almost startled.  
“Oh, no, sweetie, it’s yours! I can see it’s _just_ your colour – and it will go perfectly with that coat! No, honestly, I insist.”  
She hands you back the lipstick.

There is no arguing with her. She’s a positive whirlwind of good cheer. And what’s more, she seems perfectly sincere about it, though you wouldn’t have imagined anyone as stylish as her could really like your coat. There’s no denying she has good taste, however.

She’s smiling at you now, apparently thinking.  
“Oh, and can I give you a little tip?”  
You nod, suddenly nervous. Have you made some style error she wants to correct? She leans in conspiratorially.  
“Never leave a store like this without trying on a tester perfume. _What else_ are they there for, after all?” She winks. “I recommend ‘Misty Moonlight’.”

You find your mouth turning up at the corners, and before you know it, you’re restraining a laugh. The blonde woman beams.

You walk out of the shop ten minutes later with the lipstick in your handbag, and more importantly, with your head held high. The scent of ‘Misty Moonlight’ stays with you all afternoon.


	3. Sister Evangelina

**Catching the Bus**

You are running late. The worst and most frustrating kind of lateness – where _if_ you run, and ignore your aching feet, and are incredibly lucky, you _might_ just make it in time. But then again, you might not. And you’re _so_ tired, and your bags of groceries are so heavy. It wasn’t even your fault; the queue at the grocer’s moved unusually slow. 

You round the corner, already out of breath, and see the Number 15 bus waiting. It seems impossibly far away. Your mind’s eye presents a vision of the future – the bus sailing away before you’ve even half crossed the distance. It’s a sight you’ve seen before often enough. You might get a semi-apologetic shrug from the conductor, at most. If he’s feeling generous. Time, tide, and public transportation wait for no woman, in your experience.

You’re going to try, anyway. Otherwise your breathless rush this far will have been a waste! You set off again at an awkward half-jog, trying to pin the bus to its stop by sheer force of will. It’s as you’re rushing, the handles of your string bags cutting uncomfortably into your fingers, that you see someone else approach. Coming from the side, a lot closer to the bus than you are, is a nun. She’ll make it onboard in time, at least.

She turns her head at exactly that moment, and across the distance, her eyes lock with yours. You know at once she understands your predicament.

And this nun – who you could have _sworn_ had been striding along briskly not two seconds ago – suddenly develops a limp. 

Apparently in need of assistance, she hails the conductor, a uniformed young man waiting at the bus’s back step. He shows the instant deference the sight of a habit often inspires. Waving back through the body of the carriage, he signals the driver to wait a moment before setting off. You’ve never seen that happen before.

Seeing your chance, you pick up your pace. The distance seems less and less impossible. And the bus can’t leave yet. Clearly feeling obliged to help, the young conductor is nonetheless hanging back nervously. He seems uncertain what way it’s most permissible for a man to physically assist a nun.  
“Don’t faff about, young man! A firm hand under the elbow will do,” she assures him, brusquely. “You won’t be struck down for it, I promise!”  
Blushing now, he helps her up the step and onto the bus. By the time he returns to his post, you are climbing aboard.

You take the nearest seat, which happens to be next to the nun. The relief you feel as the motor rumbles beneath you is a glow even warmer than your cheeks. You’ll be home on time… thanks to this Sister. She is busily counting out her fare, and you wonder if you dare say anything. You’re not about to accuse a nun of dishonesty…but you _do_ want to thank her for what you’re pretty certain she’s done. You choose your words carefully.  
“That looked like a nasty limp. I hope you’ll recover quickly.”  
She gives you a subtle smile.  
“Do you know,” she says, “I’m feeling better already.”


	4. Fred & Reggie

**At the Grocer's**

You recognise the disaster a half-second before it happens. You are lifting a bag of red split lentils onto the grocery counter, when the bottom falls out and the contents spill _everywhere_. All over the counter, and over the floor. Like some terrible orange confetti. The cheerful man queueing behind you, who had let you go first, sucks in a breath at the sight of it. His son, waiting with him, says “Oh…”

The grocer’s assistant, to his credit, tells you not to worry, and sets to work quickly with dustpan and brush. But that doesn’t really make it better.

It has _not_ been a good day. You had _just_ been holding it together – and now this. You are, what? A walking inconvenience! Making a mess for the poor staff,and holding up this nice man and his son, who doubtless have better things to be doing.

But if he _is_ put out, he certainly doesn’t show it. As you stand back to make room for the sweeping, he gives you a sympathetic smile.  
“There goes all your healthy food! Isn’t it an uphill battle?” He pats his stomach thoughtfully. “Cake doesn’t cause half so many problems, I find.” He winks.

It’s clear what he’s doing. He’s jollying you along. Part of you wishes he wouldn’t. Just now, if people keep being nice to you, you are definitely going to cry. In fact…it’s already too late. You feel the tears well up. And you do the only thing you can do – slip your sunglasses down onto your face, from where they’ve been resting atop your head. As though this isn’t transparently obvious. Especially given the way your lip is wobbling.

The man politely pretends not to notice. He prattles on all the more cheerfully.  
“And what were you going to cook with those lentils?”  
“Um… They go well in soups. Or stews.”  
“Ah. Can’t go wrong with a good stew. My wife does an excellent stew with tomato, bacon, onion, garlic and, um… What are those beans, Reg?”  
“ _Cannellini_ beans,” the young man supplies, proud to fill the gaps in his father’s culinary knowledge.

These two aren’t just queueing behind you any longer. They are, very deliberately, keeping you company. It is unnecessarily kind.

When you finally get to pay for your groceries, you slip the teenage assistant a bar of Fry’s chocolate for his trouble. (He probably only accepts in case you start crying again.) The man and his son wave goodbye as though you were a friend.

Before long, the tears dry behind your glasses. And later, you will smile to yourself, stirring lentils into a stew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike the other scenes, this one’s based directly off something that happened to me, back in March, just a few days before lockdown. Shoutout to my version of ‘Fred’, wherever he is! <3


	5. Valerie

**In the Dress Shop**

You are browsing a rack of dresses, lost in your own little world, when you realise that someone has been trying to catch your attention.

“Psst! Over ‘ere!”

You turn, and see a dark head peeking out of the nearest changing cubicle. It’s a young woman. She looks a bit embarrassed, but also relieved that you’ve heard her. She gives you a hopeful smile.

“Would you do me a favour?”

You nod to show willing. She scrunches up her face as she whispers an explanation: “I’m stuck in this dress!”

“Oh!” You do your best to keep a straight face, knowing that it’s never funny for the person in the actual predicament.

You hurry over as she pulls the curtain aside. This is apparently enough to assure her that you are in her corner, on her team. Though you were strangers a moment ago, she immediately gives you the full run down. She sounds relieved to have a confidante.

“I don’t know _what_ the blinkin’ ‘eck I’ve done! I slipped it on over me head, and I thought I’d found most of the buttons. But now it won’t budge, and I’m scared I’ll rip it. Maybe you can see what’s happened?”

She’s craning her neck around, trying to see the back of the dress. From your position, however, you spot the problem immediately.   
“Ah! There’s just one tiny hook you’ve missed, up here at the back of the neckline. It’s sort of concealed in the fabric. Would you like me to…?”   
“Please.”

You quickly undo the fastening, hoping that your fingers aren’t too cold. Properly undone, the dress hangs more loosely on her, and she breathes a sigh of relief.   
“You’re a lifesaver!”

Able to relax for the first time in minutes, the young woman looks thoughtfully at her reflection.   
“What do you think of this dress, anyway? I quite liked it, till it tried to trap me.”   
You’re pleased to be consulted. And it _does_ suit her. You grin.   
“I’d say it’s a winner.”   
She beams. “Hey – thanks, chick.”

You only browse for a few more minutes, then leave empty handed. There was nothing in that shop for you – but all the same, you walk out onto the street smiling.


	6. Patrick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a gift for @fourteen-teacups. <3

**On the Street**

You nearly got caught in the sudden downpour. Not the usual London drizzle, but proper driving rain. And you didn’t think to carry an umbrella.

For the minutes since, you’ve been sheltering under a small shop awning, watching the storm pass. In a detached sort of way, you’re almost glad to be stuck. It frees you from responsibility. Maybe you’ll just stand under this awning forever… Or at least until Christmas, when you’ll enjoy the window display. Tinsel and winter fashions might be easier to get on with than people, you can’t help but think.

Your little radius of shelter seems far removed from the rest of world. And yet the world carries on, apparently. A man is striding down the street towards you, dark head bowed beneath an umbrella. He glances across at you as he draws level, and in his eyes you see the moment of indecision. He nearly walks past.

But he stops, turning to face you.

“Can I offer you half an umbrella? I’m going as far as the station, if that would help.”  
You’re going to have to re-evaluate your previous statement on ‘people’.  
“It would, actually. Thank you.”

He holds out his umbrella, and you fall into step. He’s taking care to hold it more over you than himself, you notice gratefully. Shaking one cuff back, the man checks his watch.  
“I don’t mean to rush, but my wife has booked us in for family photographs at three. Apparently, this is my only suitable tie.”

It’s a laughing smile, and a warm one. You don’t say anything, but smile in return, silently applauding his wife’s taste. (And not just her taste in ties…)

Before long, you arrive beneath the station entrance. The man closes his umbrella.  
“Your carriage awaits…” he smiles, gesturing gallantly to the whole of Whitechapel.   
You laugh. “Thank you. And good luck with the photographs!”  
He raises his eyebrows. “I may need it!”

And just like that, he is gone – another grey-coated figure in the station crowd. But, though the rain hasn’t stopped, the day somehow seems brighter.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know what you think. Comments are very welcome!
> 
> Also, feel free to say hi on Tumblr: @wednesdaygilfillian


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